The Spanish Chest Part 7

"Mother, isn't this too sweet for words?" demanded Frances.

"This is the Cupola room," explained their guide. "Charles the Second stopped here during his exile from England."

"Prince Charles!" exclaimed Win, his imagination fired at once.

"Oh, I read that in the guide book, but this--his room--"

Win's voice trailed into silence. To read a fact in a book was different from standing under the very roof that had once sheltered bonnie Prince Charlie. He looked about him, trying to picture to himself those far past days.

The ceiling rose in a huge dome and one immense window framed a wonderful view. From a little sally-port leading to a platform one could look sheer down to the rocks or across fourteen miles of tossing water to beautiful France. By using a little imagination the girls agreed that they could detect the spire of the cathedral of Coutances easily visible in clear weather.

"In the French revolution the governor of Jersey signalled to the army of the Vendee by means of a flagpole held in place by chains," said Mrs. Thayne.

"Yes," said their small guide. "The chains are still on the wall but the pole is new. The naval men use it in summer."

"Do they sleep here?" asked Win.

"Down in the chapel, sir."

"I'd stay here," said Win. "Say, how much would you rent this room for?"

"Three and six a week, sir, with the platform thrown in," replied their small guide so gravely that they all looked to see whether he was really in earnest.

"That's cheap enough, considering the view," said Mrs. Thayne, smiling.

Fascinated by the picturesque old castle, Win wandered off by himself, deciphering the inscriptions placed on the many doors.

There is no guard in the guard-room, no stores are kept in the storeroom, and the chapel never hears a sermon save those preached by its own stones to those who have ears to hear. But the sunlight falling on the green platforms, the pigeons cooing on the walls, the blue sea stretching to the s.h.i.+ning cliffs of France, the glamour of old-world romance struck impressionable Win. Dreamily he recalled that whether Caesar built the tower or not, no reasonable doubt exists that Orgueil was occupied if not built by the mighty Prince Rollo, grandfather of William the Conqueror.

Over the main entrance to the castle-keep his coat of arms survives the centuries. For centuries to come, Orgueil will remain gathering more legendary charm as the slow years pa.s.s.

Win shook off the feeling of awe gently creeping over him and joined the others, investigating a tiny cell where Prynne the Puritan leader was confined for three years. Roger was immensely impressed by the ruins of a secret staircase, connecting a dungeon where the criminals were executed, with the keep and sally-port.

"There's a many secret stairs in the old Jersey houses,"

volunteered their guide, noticing his interest.

"Where can we see them?" demanded Roger at once, but this their small informer could not tell.

"Gentry lives in those houses," he volunteered. "They'se not open to trippers."

"To what?" demanded Roger.

"Visitors, strangers like," explained the boy.

"I like that," said Roger, flus.h.i.+ng indignantly.

"Hush, Roger," interposed his mother. "No offense was meant. What are these chains? They seem very old."

"They were used long time ago to hang criminals. They do say they put 'em there alive and left 'em to the corbies."

"Corbies? Oh, crows," interpreted Win. "Nice custom! Mother, look at the heaps of rocks exposed by the tide."

"There's more this side," said their guide, turning a corner of the rampart with Roger close at his heels. The rest were about to follow when suddenly Mrs. Thayne gave an exclamation.

"Listen!" she said. "That must be a skylark."

From somewhere in the blue above fell a rain of happy music, so liquid and so sweet that it scarcely seemed to come from any earthly bird.

"Where is it?" asked Frances excitedly, peering into the air and dropping on her knees the better to look up. Mrs. Thayne did the same and both stared into the sky, trying to detect the tiny spot of feathered joy, the source of all this melody. Presently Edith and Win joined them.

Back around the corner came Roger and the guide, both stopping short at sight of the rest of the party down on their knees on the daisy-starred turf.

"Whatever are they doing?" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the boy.

"Oh, it's a skylark!" exclaimed Frances enthusiastically. "Come and see."

Mouth open in amazement, their small guide stood rooted to the spot. "A skylark!" he muttered, staring at the four in their att.i.tude of devotion. "Lookin' at a skylark!" he repeated as though unable to credit the testimony of his own eyes.

Win burst out laughing and rose to his feet. "Take this," he said, producing a s.h.i.+lling. "Thank you for showing us about. We'll stay a while longer and eat lunch here."

The boy pocketed the coin and withdrew, his face still a picture of incredulous astonishment over the actions of this singular and apparently insane group of excursionists. At last sight, he was still slowly shaking his head and murmuring, "Lookin' at a skylark!"

[Ill.u.s.tration: "LOOK, THERE IS A JERSEY COW AMONG THE CABBAGES."]

CHAPTER VI

A RACE WITH THE TIDE

After luncheon, time pa.s.sed too quickly. Before it seemed possible, Mrs. Thayne declared the hour had come for Roger to keep his appointment with the dentist in St. Helier's.

"Let him go alone, Mother," said Win. "He's no kid. We want you to stay with us."

"Of course he could go alone," agreed Mrs. Thayne, "but I ought to consult the dentist myself and do an errand or two. There's no reason why you and the girls should cut short your stay. This is a lovely place to spend the afternoon and the day too perfect to hurry home. Just be back for dinner."

"Let Roger return the donkey," suggested Win. "I sha'n't need him going down hill and very likely we shall strike across beyond the village."

Mrs. Thayne departed, Roger clattering ahead on the donkey, and the three were left in the meadow by the castle entrance, a meadow starred with most fascinating pink-tipped English daisies.

"Just see the dears and then think that it's really winter,"

sighed Frances. "I can't believe that at home everybody is wearing furs and the ground is frozen. It doesn't seem possible that Christmas is so near."

Win was lying flat on the close-cropped turf, his att.i.tude indicating that he contemplated a nap. After a glance at his prostrate figure, the girls wandered to a little distance, seeking the pinkest daisies. Presently they were surprised by the sudden arrival of a beautiful collie, who poked a cold nose into Edith's face.

"O-oh!" she exclaimed. "Go to Frances. She's the one who likes dogs. I prefer nice soft little p.u.s.s.y-cats."

"It's the beach dog," said Frances. "Do you suppose his lady is with him?"

Edith looked eagerly about. The elevated castle meadow commanded a rather extended view but in no direction was any one visible.